


(Hold On to) What We Are

by junnir



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. References, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Spoilers, Character Death, F/M, Gen, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 02, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, Season/Series 02 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:13:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4140786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junnir/pseuds/junnir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Season 2 finale; AU where Jemma dies. // "For the two of them, especially." In which the two people closest to Jemma Simmons have to deal with what is left of what once was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Hold On to) What We Are

The shrillness doesn’t escape his ears, even while he’s half-awake and desperately clinging onto his semi-unconscious self. It’s getting more difficult each morning, and sometimes he wonders if it’s more worth it to just forgo sleep so he could avoid the challenge of waking up against all odds when day breaks.

His eyes peel open, eagerly and unwittingly inviting the light of day in, and he squints a little to orientate himself.

Another morning.

Another day.

Another tick-tock in the countdown to when all this pain would finally end.

Will it ever end though, he asks nobody in particular. Nobody, because nobody would have an answer for him. Nobody’s answer is good enough. He’s starting to think this pain is eternal.

Of all the things—and of all the _people—_ that could be eternal for him, this had to be it.

(The flowers he bought that day in advance had long withered in its position at the corner of his room, as the life in his eyes did.)

//

The coffee machine stirs and whirs and decidedly halts its function. Indeed, of all ways a morning could go, this was it.

She clenches her jaw, annoyance brimming inside her. She’s never been one for patience, but nowadays her fuse had been getting shorter and thinner by the second. She tries to channel it, to channel some patience and just wait, but alas she thought it wiser to resort to percussive maintenance.

Three whacks on the side of the machine and out of nowhere, a plate lying on the other side of the counter was the object that shatters.

Someone slips into the pantry behind her and swallows, and she hears that too, loud and clear. She hears the hastening heartbeat, she hears _everything_ – she knows who it is, and she raises a hand to stop him from speaking.

“I get it, Hunter. I have to control my—“

“You just have to turn that machine off and on again,” he offers in a small voice, restrained and reserved and unlike the usual way he spoke. Not that the team has heard him quip or tease about anything since _it_ happened.

They fall into silence, the spoken form of it, at least. For her, nothing was ever silent. Thank heavens for this wonderful gift to hear vibrations of all sorts, she thought bitterly.

She balls up her fists, undoes it, does it again. Then she walks away, leaving her empty mug on the machine and the shattered plate where it was, shattered and nothing more.

He watches her leave. His lips part a second too late. “Skye…”

But she was gone. Just like that other girl was, just like the spirited selves they all once were.

Of all the people who had to leave, she had to be the one.

(Leaving behind destruction in her wake, destruction that hurt more than Skye’s powers ever could.)

//

“Who are we missing?”

In the meeting room, this has almost become the question of an era. It stings a little when they hear it, because of all the wrong areas this question hit within them.

The first time anyone asked this was when it all started to fall apart.

The second time was telling enough that they might have lost one physically, but they lost even more emotionally.

The third time on, it became more of a reminder than an actual question, that they had people of their own who may never walk out of the shadows without some help from people who aren’t them.

Nobody answers, because after the first fifty or so times of hearing it, they all knew the answer wouldn’t really change.

They all knew things wouldn’t really change for all of them. For the two of them, especially.

//

He sits in her room, on her bed, the sheets nicely put out and untouched— _untouched ever since_ —and he runs a hand across the vastness of the surface. On some days he could still feel some warmth on it. Today was not one of those days.

He finds it within himself to smile. At least, if he felt no warmth here, it meant she was up and about. Probably scurrying to and fro in the lab, working on a new science experiment. Enthusiastically raving about the new breakthrough she’d make that’d qualify her for a Nobel Prize. Obstinately rejecting offers of assistance from him, insisting that he’d only turn the experiment into his own. Eventually relenting when he refuses to move from the spot he was rooted to, right outside the lab, eyes fixated on her working, unless he is allowed inside.

It pains him to think about it, but he’s rather convinced they have a state-of-the-art lab up there for her to relish, with every possible facility she’d need an arm’s length away from her. Decorated in accordance to Doctor Who themes, complete with a miniature TARDIS sitting in the corner, for her viewing pleasure. All the makings of the perfect lab for her.

It kills him to think about it, but the perfect lab for him was one with her in it.

It kills him to think about it, but the perfect _life_ for him was one with her in it.

And all he needed was the perfect first date, one with him and her in it.

//

She stands by the door of her bedroom, staring wordlessly at the metal and glass that separated her from the inside.

She remembers that one night she couldn’t sleep, that same night she had returned from the vet clinic, introducing herself as Daisy to the father who no longer knew who she was. Wandering through the base she comes to a stop outside the bedroom that belonged to what was the only person she could even remotely consider the closest thing to a best friend.

She barely stood still for more than a second, and the door goes sliding open, and out comes the girl, her best friend. She breaks into sobs and falls into her warm arms that whispered a promise of never letting go, of never leaving her behind, as what best friends ought to do for each other.

This time, she breaks into sobs again, but there were no arms around her. The door doesn’t slide open, her best friend doesn’t come walking out.

What happened to never letting go, or never leaving her behind? What happened to having a best friend?

It pains her to realise that she never called her ‘best friend’.

It kills her to realise that she never whispered back the promise of never letting go and never leaving her behind.

It kills her to realise that she will _never_ get to promise her anything anymore.

Nothing was ever silent for her. But beyond this door, everything was.

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing Fitzsimmons and Skimmons! As heartbroken as I am with how the season finale turned out to be, I decided to kick the angst up a notch and allow Simmons to be dead in this one-shot... Title comes from the lyrics of Your Bones, an Of Monsters and Men song.


End file.
